


only dark skies that hang above

by Whatabeautifulday23



Series: to forever and beyond [2]
Category: Riverdale - Fandom
Genre: Angst, F/M, Some light Varchie, bughead - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-28
Updated: 2018-05-28
Packaged: 2019-05-14 16:10:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14772855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whatabeautifulday23/pseuds/Whatabeautifulday23
Summary: Once Jughead wakes up, he discovers that he is not the same. And it hurts.The next part to "to forever and beyond."





	only dark skies that hang above

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place after my work "to forever and beyond" and it is necessary to read before this. It was set after the penultimate episode of season 2. 
> 
> My father was handicapped. He was paralyzed from the waist down when he was in his twenties. Most days he spent in his wheelchair or in his crutches. By the time I was born, he was used to it and moved with ease. However, I know that in the beginning he struggled, though not exactly the same as Jughead will. We all know that Jughead has struggled with being enough, and so I've taken it in a mildly different direction. Please let me know if anything I write is offensive - it is not my intent at all.
> 
> Thank you and enjoy!

When Jughead wakes, lucid despite the pain rippling along his muscles and bones and _everything_ , he is not alone. FP is sleeping upright in the chair beside his bed, built of tense lines that are prominent even while dreams. Jug does his best not to wake him, fingers stretching for the ‘Call Nurse’ function on the remote settled next to his body, but his brain isn’t clearly sending signals to the rest of him yet. Instead of grabbing it, he knocks it off the bed and it lands with a loud clatter, causing FP to sputter awake. Jug winces, hissing out a sharp breath. The movement causes agony to rip through his shoulder, which he notices is covered in bandages.

A sickness spreads inside of him, nausea a rocking boat in a torrential storm of stomach acid. Everything hurts. He’s going to puke.

“Jug.”

FP’s voice is a whisper, as if he’s trying not to spook a ghost. His eyes, Jughead notes, are wild and sleep-deprived. Bruises stain the skin beneath them.

“Hey Dad,” Jughead whispers through cracked lips. FP swallows harshly, and Jug notices the flask tucked tight to his hand, fleshy fingers trying to hide it. “How long have I been out?”

FP is still staring as if he can’t believe it – his son is alive, broken but breathing. “You’ve been out for over a week.”

A week. Jughead mulls this over, the words twisting and turning inside of his head. Suddenly, a name pops into his head, and he’s about to explode. _Betty_. Jug attempts to sit up and groans in defeat when his body refuses to cooperate and instead launches into pain. Everything is a constant ache; moving makes it sharper. FP lunges for the remote on the floor and hits the ‘Call Nurse’ button. Their time alone together is dwindling.

“Jug…”

FP’s voice is filled with a sadness so deep that it twists something inside of him. Jughead stares at his dad, even as his head feels heavy and his eyes try to close.

“Son…I love you.” FP’s throat bobs and he runs his fingers through the hair on the back of his neck. Jughead realizes, through the fog of sleep, that his dad may very well be tipsy right now. “We don’t say it enough. I love you, boy.”

“I love you too, Dad,” Jug mumbles, succumbing to the darkness lurking in the edges of his eyes. But his last thought is of Betty, and how he wishes she was here to greet him.

            ~

Jughead leaves the hospital in a wheel chair. It means that Alice and FP have to go get the truck while he waits outside in the sun. It feels nice. Dull white walls were all he had for days - besides the ray of sunshine currently sitting next to him, waiting for the truck as well.

Betty is looking at him already, full of soft smiles and delicate brushes of her fingers against his cheeks. She’s thankful for him. Thankful that he’s still breathing. She whispered as much when she first saw him, eyes bright with tears. Jughead leans up and kisses her, feeling her lips curl up as they meet.

She won’t be thankful for him forever. No, someday she’ll resent the fact that he lived. Jughead feels that in his bones – it settles over him like a winter blanket, heavy and drowning.

This wheelchair is only the beginning. There is a cane waiting for him at Betty’s house. He will most likely be using it for the rest of his life. An injury to his kneecap from the beating leaves it unable to fully bear his weight. He was crippled before his prime.

It is a bitter pill to swallow, and Jughead wishes, not for the first time, that he had just died. It would have been easier for Betty, and for his father, if he had died after the beating. They would have moved on eventually, even if the pain of it would have been unbearable at first. They wouldn’t have been stuck with this…broken _piece_ of him.

There’s a sour taste in his mouth. It makes the sky look not quite as nice; it dims the colors to him.

The truck pulls up and idles, FP launching himself out of the driver’s side to help his wrecked son up from the wheelchair. Betty stands too, and she takes his unbroken arm as FP slings his arm around his waist. Jug grunts as he slowly pushes himself up, muscles protesting loudly at the movement. “Put your weight on me, boy,” FP mutters, voice just slightly hoarse, so Jughead does.

Together, as a shambling mass, they move towards the truck.

Jughead has to step up in order to get inside the truck. In hindsight, they probably should have used Alice’s car, but there’s no other choice now. Jug grits his teeth and _steps_ , his whole body tensing and screaming in pain. His broken arm throbs, his other arm, with the chunk missing out of it, burns.

He swears under his breath as he settles in the seat and doesn’t bother to put the seatbelt on. He can feel Betty and FP looking at him and it makes his cheeks and neck flame red. Jug ducks his head, unable to look either of them in the eye. The shame builds and builds, threatening to overflow, tears with it. He swallows harshly.

Betty shuts the back door gently before moving to the other side. She clambers in next to him and leans in, eyes roving over his form. Jug tries not to look too weak in front of her, but his body is shaking against his will, so he has the feeling that he doesn’t succeed.

He lets a breath loose and closes his eyes, avoiding everyone’s gaze.

~

They don’t bother to try putting him upstairs in the Cooper household. They just settle him on the couch. Betty sits down next to him on the couch, and Jughead lifts himself up slightly before resting his head on her lap. Her fingers twine through his hair, and he smiles a little.

Alice and FP give them both some space, which shocks Jughead a little bit. But she’s different – less of a viper now that Hal’s gone, quieter and simply observant.

They whisper in the hallway nearby, and Jughead tries not to let it get to him. Betty does her part to distract him, turning on the TV and smiling gently down at him. He tries to reciprocate but that nauseous feeling about his situation is back, and so is the pain radiating throughout his body. The ride here – and the subsequent trip off of the truck and inside the house – took its toll on him.

Jughead falls asleep accidentally and dreams of nothing. When he wakes up, it’s only to choke down some pain medication and eat some food. He is, according to FP, lucky that he didn’t lose any teeth. He gratefully chomps down on a burger from Pop’s, even though it hurts to swallow.

Inevitably, he has to use the bathroom. Upon telling Betty, his face flushing darkly, she bites her lip and nods before carefully standing up, ready to help him move. “I can use the cane,” he blurts out, because he can’t stand the idea of causing her discomfort because of _his_ choices.

“Are you sure? I don’t mind helping you, Jug,” Betty replies, smiling at him. Her beautiful green eyes glint in an almost playful manner.

 _But you will_ , Jughead thinks bitterly and shakes his head. “No, it’s okay Betty. I want to try out the cane.”

Almost reluctantly, Betty disappears down the hall. He listens as her footsteps fade. It’s like the instant she’s gone, all of the normal sounds come into his hearing range. He can hear Polly upstairs with the twins, the babbling. Someone – most likely Alice – is washing dishes in the kitchen. The clang of dishes and pots moving is strangely comforting. It’s not something he remembers from his own childhood. Here, it rings of at least some stability. Someone is at least around to wash the dishes.

With a pang, Jughead thinks of Jellybean. He wonders if anyone has told her or their mother about his injuries. He thinks not – or maybe Gladys does know and has chosen not to call him. It stings but it’s a possibility.

Betty comes back, and Jughead’s eyes zero in on the cane. It’s made of dark wood and it’s polished to an almost offensive sheen. It’s curved into a hook at the top, like most canes, and has a dark rubber bottom to prevent scuffing.

He hates it immediately.

Still, Betty hands it so reverently to him that he swallows down the hatred that threatens to spew out. He takes it and presses it firmly to the floor before carefully pushing his body up off the couch. Jughead wavers and Betty is on him quickly, her hand coming to the crook of his elbow. She steadies him in more ways than one. Just having her nearby calms his heart beat and keeps him breathing at an even pace. She numbs the agony coursing through his veins. Or maybe that’s the pain pills finally kicking in.

Slowly, Jughead starts to step his way towards the bathroom. It’s awkward and hard, and he feels so much pressure on his arm. The rage builds up inside of him, and he lets it, because it keeps him moving. The cane thumps against the floor, a sharp burst of noise that resounds too much in his ears.

With every thump, he thinks.

He was never enough for Betty to begin with.

Now he never will be.

~

The trailer is, somehow, undemolished in Sunnyside Trailer Park. But Jughead still doesn’t plan on living in it. The Serpent tattoo was cut off of him, and quite frankly, he’s done with it all. Done with the Serpents, the Ghoulies, the Southside, everything. He just wants…to breathe. And not feel that ache in his arm from where the tattoo was cut; not feel the burn in his ribs; not feel the sting in his healing arm.

Jughead is merely gathering his belongings, and then shedding this place of unhappiness and misery like a snake does its skin.

There were good times here, too – times playing with Jellybean, times when his mother and father actually got along, and more recent times too. When Betty stayed with him. When they made love for the first time.

But the bad outweighs the good, so Jughead is not remorseful. He’s moving in with Betty and the Coopers. He thinks it’s a good idea. He distracts them from the pain of Hal’s decisions, and they help him live.

A car pulls up behind FP’s truck, and FP starts a little, gazing into the rearview mirror. It’s a town car, one that doesn’t belong on this side of the tracks. Neither does the girl that steps primly out of it – Veronica Lodge tries not to look disturbed by the sight of the wrecked trailer park, and she’s a good actress, but Jughead can see the way her eyes flicker. The way her body seems to move just a little bit heavier from the thoughts of what her father has done.

Jughead has not seen Veronica since before the riot, and before his subsequent decision to sacrifice himself to her father. Veronica doesn’t look nervous though. Instead, she squares back her shoulders and marches to him – in heels. He’s pretty sure she even kicks aside a piece of tin with a discrete whirl of her foot.

“Hi, Jughead,” Veronica greets him nicely, though her eyes are a tad wary. Her hands fold together in front of her, knuckles white. “Betty told me that I would be able to find you here.”

Jughead leans on his cane, and her eyes track the movement. He smiles wryly. “I’m collecting my stuff and kissing Sunnyside goodbye.”

Veronica looks around at the destroyed trailers. “Do you think they’ll ever rebuild it?”

The question throws him, and he frowns. “I hope they build something better than it.”

“Me too.”

A heavy silence fills the air between them, and Jughead can feel FP’s eyes on him from the truck. His knee is starting to throb from standing for so long, and the bag that he’s thrown over his shoulder is pressing a little too tightly into his skin. He’s about to say his goodbyes and move on, but Veronica speaks.

“Your dad still has a job,” she says and Jughead looks at her, his mouth falling open. He had heard about Hiram firing his father, and it had filled him with more anger towards the shady criminal, but there wasn’t much he could do from the couch.

“How?” Jughead hears himself ask, his voice oddly high-pitched.

Veronica stares steadily back at him. “I bought Pop’s from Daddy. I used the money from holding Nick St. Clair hostage. And now…well, he’s essentially disowned me, but it was worth it.” She straightens her spine and despite the fact that they’re basically eye-level, especially since she’s in heels, Jughead feels smaller than her. “It was worth it.”

Jughead nods slowly, unsure of what to say; if he should feel grateful or indebted to her.

“He’ll be paid a good wage, based on what the revenue is, and…” For just a second, Veronica Lodge looks out of her depth. Jughead knows she’s incredibly smart and business-savvy, but he also knows that everything has been taken from her, just about. “And I’m done with Daddy. I can’t…watch him destroy everything,” she half-whispers to herself, eyes falling to the ground.

Jughead surprises both of them: he leans forward and wraps his arms around Veronica in a hug. She stiffens, but then reciprocates, her hands pressing firmly to his back. They hold on for a moment and then he steps back. “Thank you,” he says roughly and smiles.

She watches as he limps to the truck, cane still thumping away.

~

Jughead fears the day he goes back to school, but it isn’t that bad. Reggie Mantle, one of his enemy’s mere weeks ago, asks people to get out of the way as he limps through the halls. He even offers to help carry his bag – something that Jughead declines but appreciates nonetheless.

Maybe his sacrifice meant something after all.

Betty stands by his side and walks with him, even to classes they don’t share. She hovers and Jughead is grateful. But the poison still seeps into him with every uneven step he takes. Every time he presses his weight into the cane, it eats away at a little bit more of him.

He is not enough.

He never was.

He never will be.

And Betty deserves better.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment and tell me what you think! It makes the writing come faster!


End file.
